


Bird-like screeches pierce the air from the depths of his cruelty

by kriswithakay



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adoption, Family Feels, Family Fluff, Found Family, don't spook the force sensitive baby, how is a baby supposed to know the difference between a helmet and a face
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-29
Updated: 2020-01-29
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:55:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22468237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kriswithakay/pseuds/kriswithakay
Summary: He waited for the kid to lower his arms again before reaching up and removing his helmet. For a long moment the only sounds were those of the ship’s engine, the creak of the metal grate below Din’s feet, the hush of his own breath.Then the kid began to scream.ORMaybe don't spook the force-sensitive baby, Mando?
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Comments: 23
Kudos: 592





	Bird-like screeches pierce the air from the depths of his cruelty

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from Osiria Melody's "In the Town of Tranquility." Not a happy poem, but I couldn't resist that title.

All things considered, he kept his helmet on around the kid for a long time. The kid _was_ a baby, and despite his penchant for escape artistry it wasn’t too difficult to get him to go to sleep in his little improvised room once he got tired. Din was able to eat and bathe while the kid was sleeping or otherwise occupied with taking apart everything he could reach and turning it into a toy. They had been on the run for a few months, fled Sargon weeks ago, and had just left a backwater mining world after a messy job and worryingly few credits to show for it. Din had left the cockpit to find the kid rolling his little ball across the floor and chasing after it, and was struck in the gut by the realization that he was a coward.

There was no end in sight to their situation, no way to settle down and find a quiet life for the kid, no people he could go to for help without putting them in danger as well. The kid’s only hope was constant movement to throw off their pursuers, and what protection Din could offer him.

In the face of all of that, his decision was obvious. The kid was his charge, his foundling. And he was the kid’s father. For better or for worse.

Din approached the kid slowly, and shining black eyes rose to meet his visor. A quiet coo followed by a gurgle that seemed to be laughter, and the kid held out the metal ball. Din reached down and took it and the kid gurgled again, raising both arms in a clear demand. Din sighed and picked him up too, nestling him in the crook of one arm.

“Hi,” Din greeted. He felt it important to talk to the child, even though he didn’t know how much the kid understood him, where he was in his development, if his species even spoke at all. Maybe the kid would grow up and sound like a Wookie. Or a Hutt. Any day now his legs might fall off and turn into a slimy tail, and then Din would have to carry him _everywhere_. The kid would probably love it.

Right. Stalling. Din sighed and handed the little green menace his ball, then turned and walked to his sleeping alcove. The kid cried out in indignation when Din set him down among his blankets and single flat cushion.

“I know, I know,” Din soothed, feeling like an idiot. “It’s not sleep time yet. I need to show you something.”

Big green ears tilted up, and Din chose to take it as curiosity. “I know.” He repeated dumbly, steeling himself. It wasn’t forbidden. Just not something he’d ever expected to do. A Mandalorian could remove their helmet in private among close family. It was even encouraged, to a limited extent, to show your face to your children. It was an intimacy, granted to very few.

Din had never granted it to anyone.

He reached out, offering his hand palm up to the child, who eagerly grasped at his thumb with one tiny hand. “Ad’ika,” Din spoke reverently, and the child looked up at him. “You’re my ad’ika,” he repeated. “My kid. I’ll protect you.” he tapped his breastplate with his other hand. “Cabur.” He squeezed the child’s hand between forefinger and thumb. “Ad’ika.”

The kid blinked up at him, squeezing his thumb with his claws. Din sighed, and leant down closer. He wasn’t a coward, had stopped being afraid of almost anything a long time ago. This was nothing. He could do this.

“Ner ad’ika,” he squeezed the kid’s hand. “Gar-“ he tapped his chest. “…gar buir.” He finally choked out. The kid cooed, let go of his thumb and offered up his ball again.

“I know you don’t have a name yet,” Din continued on, setting the ball to the side and coaxing the kid to look at him again. Huge, guileless black eyes focused on his visor, and the kid finally seemed to grasp that he was talking. “But I know…” Din’s voice was hoarse and he felt ridiculous, for waiting so long to take this step, for drawing it out when the kid clearly didn’t understand.

“Ni kar’tayl gai sa’ad.” His voice was strong and clear, and seemed to ring through the small space. The kid tilted his head to the side, then held up his arms to be held. Din wanted to indulge him, but this was important. He wasn’t a coward. Not anymore.

“Hush. K’uur.” He said, and waited for the kid to lower his arms again before reaching up and removing his helmet. For a long moment the only sounds were those of the ship’s engine, the creak of the metal grate below Din’s feet, the hush of his own breath.

Then the kid began to scream.

* * *

In retrospect, the kid had been with him for months and had never seen Din without his helmet. He was a baby who, as he was concerned, had just seen his father remove his head and turn into a different person.

Din fumbled his helmet in shock, hand instinctively reaching for his blaster at the sound, and in the next moment he was thrown across the room by a great weight slamming into his chest. His back hit the wall and he slid, falling to the floor with a grunt of pain and a bitten off curse. The kid’s scream had tapered off into loud sobbing cries, and by the time Din’s head stopped swimming enough for him to scramble to his knees he found the kid on the floor opposite him, waddling toward Din’s dropped helmet with a look of absolute devastation on his face.

“Hey,” Din called and the child stopped short, looking over at him. Din put out his hand and the child flinched back, crying out again and raising its hand as if to-

“K’uur, k’uur! Ad’ika, ni gar buir. Buir!”

The kid hesitated, looking back and forth between Din and his fallen helmet, eyes still shining with tears. Finally it let out a quiet coo and sat down hard on the floor. Din slowly got to his feet but the child merely watched him, wide eyes blinking as Din approached slowly.

“K’uur,” he soothed again, crouching down next to the child. “It’s me. It’s still me, ad’ika. See?”

He reached out and picked up the helmet, bringing it closer for the kid to see. He did, reluctantly taking his eyes off of Din’s exposed face. “Look,” Din turned the helmet, showing him the hollow inside. “Buy’ce,” he said, sticking a hand in and waving it about. “Helmet. You’ve seen helmets before.”

The child struggled back to his feet with a sniff and waddled forward. Din allowed him to put his hands inside the helmet, patting at the smooth beskar for a few moments. Then he turned back to Din and started to cry in earnest but also, to Din’s immense relief, held up his arms to be held.

“Oh kriff, kid,” Din muttered, scooping the kid up and tucking him into his chest. His little claws scrabbled at the fabric bunched at Din’s neck, then the kid started squirming until Din pulled back a little, and began patting at Din’s cheeks and nose and chin.

“Yeah, this is me.” Din said, only to be met with a exploring claw inserted into his mouth. After a moment of consideration he decided that any dignity he had was long gone after being magically body-slammed by a baby moments after formally adopting him into his culture, and stuck out his tongue for the kid to poke at. This was met with a quiet gurgle, and Din resigned himself to spending the rest of the night making up with his ad’ika for scaring him so badly.

Then maybe he could start to work out how the kid had thrown him in the first place.

**Author's Note:**

> Mando'a:  
> ad'ika = child  
> cabur = protector/guardian  
> buir = parent  
> Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad = "I know your name as my child", Mandalorian adoption vow  
> k'uur = hush  
> buy'ce = helmet
> 
> \-----
> 
> I have fallen down the rabbit hole of Baby Yoda and his single father Din Djarin. Help.


End file.
